Boy Who Lived? Meet the Boy Who Died
by Byakko Loki
Summary: I was born in 1998. I lived a full and plentiful life, eventually dying at the age of 91. But that wasn't the end, that was only just the beginning. Because after that, something else happened…I was born. Every time I die, I'm reborn into a different place in a different time. I was known by many a wizard, as 'the boy who died'. Spinoff of "The Boy Who Lived Meets The Boy Who Died"
1. PrologueBackstory

I was born in 1998. I lived a full and plentiful life, eventually dying at the age of 91. But that wasn't the end, _oh_, that was only just the beginning. Because after that, after I died, something else happened…

I was born.

46 BC. That was the year I was born. Met some people I never thought I'd meet, had my fun, and was eventually trampled by a stampede of horses and cattle. I died. And then, the next thing I knew_, I was born again._

The year was 1-1945—pronounced one-nineteen-forty-five. Not futuristic as you would expect, as those idiots practically acted out exactly what happened in the planet of the apes—minus the apes. The damn fuckers blew it all up. Or at least that's my guess. Who knows what they really did to it? But, I have to say, being a ninja sure as hell's fun. That is, at least until some crazy bitch decides to go all metal on your ass, and gouges your eyes out, before ripping their hand through your stomach, and clocking you on the head.

Not the most pleasant way to die. But, at least it was fun, waking up in England in 2-1979—don't ask what happened to the 1st millennium—you really don't want to know. But growing up to become an exorcist, is _definitely _something to look forward to—despite all the pain and suffering that comes with. Later on, I died when I was 18 and some dude decided to just go and tear my limbs from my body, like that was a good idea.

Is it just me, or are my deaths just getting more and more gruesome?

Anyway, I have to say it was a bit of a shock when I woke up in Feudal Japan, and found out I was a half demon—something apparently not that uncommon there. Met some cool people, a girl from the future, and ended up falling into a well and breaking my neck.

Well, isn't that a pitiful death for a demon, even if I was only a half demon.

Next thing I knew, I was in 4-2003—don't even ask what happened to the 2nd and 3rd millennium. Anyway, the 420th century was crazy—it was like the future and the past combined into one—full of flying cars, houses you can keep in tiny capsules, martial arts tournaments, aliens, and dinosaurs. Sadly, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to my long time good friends, before I fell off a cliff. Honestly, I have no idea where that cliff came from.

Anyway, the next time I awoke, I was all the way back in 18 BC. Saw a creepy scene with some guy calling the other 'my Lord', while the man being called 'Lord', drew crosses on him with his own blood.

Yeah.

Just about died from shock right there.

Died for real only a few minutes later, when I tripped on a dead frog.

Honestly, my deaths went from gruesome, to just plain strange.

Anyway, after that I was reborn, and died, 87 more times, before I finally ended up here. I was reborn—I'd given up saying _'born'_ a long time ago—into the year 1980. Luckily, I'm in England again, so no need to worry about running into myself—just note to self, no visiting America. I've already got an American accent—nothing to fix that—so if anyone asks, I'm visiting from America, and I just got here.

But that's not even the best part—I just got this letter, and while I've already met demons, ninjas, exorcists, mentals, aliens, and much, much more, never before have I met a wizard.

Oh, this was gunna be fun.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: ****Albus Dumbledore****  
**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

**Minerva McGonagall**  
**Deputy Headmistress**


	2. Chapter 1: Dudley's Birthday

**Boy Who Lived? Meet The Boy Who Died.**

**Spinoff of "****The Boy Who Lived Meets the Boy Who Died"**

**Chapter 1: Dudley's Birthday**

Harry was already making bacon and eggs, with French toast, when Mr. Dursley walked in. Harry picked up the mug with Mr. Dursley's coffee, and brought it over to the table where he was sitting. "Breakfast will be ready in five to ten minutes, sir."

Mr. Dursley nodded, and took the cup, just as his wife, Mrs. Dursley, entered the room. "Your tea is ready ma'am. Breakfast will be ready in five to ten minutes."

"Thank you," she nodded, and took the cup graciously from his hands, "Smells wonderful."

"You're welcome, ma'am, and thank you." Harry went back to working on breakfast.

Seeing the pile of presents in the corner, Harry spoke. "I hope you don't mind, sir, and ma'am, but I noticed you bought a few less presents than last year, so I took the time to go through the newspaper, and I found an ad for a zoo, that's having a special. I have written down the name, address, and phone number on a slip of paper, and placed it nearby your seat."

Mr. Dursley—or as Harry liked to call him, _Mt. Dursley—_looked over at the paper on the table. "I'm sure Dudley would be thrilled, sir," said Harry.

Mt. Dursley nodded, "He would, wouldn't he? Settled then, we'll go. Thanks for the save, boy."

"It's my pleasure, sir." Finishing up the breakfast, he piled it onto three plates, and brought it over to the table, where Mt. Dursley and Dursley Tower—Mrs. Dursley—were sitting.

"But," started Mount Dursley, "What shall we do with you, while we are away?"

"May I suggest, sir, I stay here and clean up the house, as well as cook dinner so it shall be ready when you return, as well as cake, perhaps?"

Mt. Dursley thought for a moment, before he nodded, "Alright then, just do us a good job, and cook us up something nice."

"Of course, sir."

Suddenly Dudley ran into the kitchen. "Morning mum, dad! Morning Harry!"

"Good morning Dudley. Your breakfast is on the table."

"Thanks, Harry!" He ran over to the presents. "Mum! Dad! This is three presents less than last year!"

"Yes, yes, we know," said Mt. Dursley, silently thanking Harry, "But that's because we're going to the zoo today, choose any friend you like—Harry will stay here to clean and cook. He's also going to bake you a cake! Aren't you, Harry?"

"Yes sir."

"Wow, thanks Harry! You always make the best cakes! And I haven't had a cake in _forever!_"

The corners of Harry's lips lifted upwards. If it wasn't for him controlling the diets of the three Dursleys, Vernon and Dudley would be so fat, that they could be diagnosed with a flesh-eating disease, and the doctor would give them each ten years to live, and Petunia would be so skinny she could dodge raindrops.

"It's no problem, Dudley," said Harry, turning, "Sir, would you like me to get the mail?"

Mt. Dursley turned to Harry, "Oh, and yes— of course. Go on now."

"Yes, sir." Harry scurried off out of the kitchen, and into the hallway, by the door. Picking up the average sized pile of mail, he began going through it, stopping at the last letter when he saw who it was addressed to.

_MR. H. POTTER,  
The Cupboard under the Stairs,  
4. Privet Drive,  
Little Whinging,  
SURREY_

He quickly slipped the letter under the door into his cupboard, and reentered the kitchen.

"Here, Harry, have some of mine!" said Dudley, sliding his plate toward Harry.

"Thank you, Dudley," Harry smiled.

_**-—LINE—-**_

Once they had left, Harry quickly got to cleaning. After two hours, the place was spotless. He then began working on dinner—cheese burgers and fries—Dudley's favorite, and something he rarely got to eat because of Harry. He'd be so happy. With that done, all that was left was the cake. Suddenly remembering the letter, he approached his cupboard opening the tiny door, and removing the letter.

"_MR. H. POTTER,  
The Cupboard under the Stairs,  
4. Privet Drive,  
Little Whinging,  
SURREY", _He read.

That's definitely not creepy, or stalker-ish in anyway… He opened the letter, his eyes widening comically as he read it.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

Headmaster: **Albus Dumbledore**  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

**Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress  
**

"_Dafuq_…"


End file.
